Christmas Angel
by ASW8783
Summary: Dean is trapped in the Impala alone in the middle of a blizzard with no gas. He's losing his battle for survival, but can a mysterious presense help him pull through? Is it an angel, or somebody more close to his brother's heart?


The gravel flew in all directions, mixing with the now fine layer of snow and slush, the dirty combination making inaudible pangs of stone against metal. The under workings of the Impala; the most important parts being chipped away. This was the side of the sleek automobile that no one ever saw. The rusted, breaking away parts. This was the Impala. This, was Dean Winchester.

How long had it been, he wondered, since he had last smiled. Not the sort of smile he gave Sam or a local official. No, the kind of smile that made him feel like an actual person again. The kind of smile that made the people close to him feel like everything was alright. A real one. Too long, he guessed.

Another turn. What was the name of this road? He had forgotten to look. Was he lost? Yes. "Shit." The snow was coming down in such a manner, it was blanketing the windshield faster than the car could wipe off. So, Dean decided to pull over and reluctantly call his brother. Voicemail. Of course he wouldn't be around to answer. "Son of a...Hey Sam, could use a little help here, man. Kinda...sorta...lost. Heh. ... Yeah, so uh, when you get this, call me back, alright? Later." A long pause before he flipped his phone shut and let out one long sigh. "Now we wait."

The temperature was soon dropping almost as quickly as the moon seemed to rise above the tree lined back road. There was no sense in driving anymore...hell, it would only get him more lost in the end. Then he'd really be screwed. Then again...in an hour or so, his car would be painted white, and nearly impossible to locate anyways. Fine. With a quick turn of the key still lodged into the ignition, his worst fears came true; the Impala wouldn't start. Over and over the key was turned without luck. A swift fist came down onto the steering wheel. "Damnit!"

Dean had always hated the cold. Spending as little time he had to outdoors, or until he was ordered by his father to assist him and his brother with something. It wasn't that he became cold quickly, it was more of the idea that the cold felt less than safe. The warm sun always held some sort of comfort for the eldest Winchester, while the cold simply reminded him daily that evil was all around. With a grunt, Dean shrugged his leather jacket closely around his chest and reclined in his driver's seat to relax and wait for the cavalry.

_"...Dean..."_

The older brother sat up with a start, gasping at clearly hearing his own name. It seemed like it had been right here inside the car. Almost...beside him. Dean shuddered visibly, the cold feeling as if it had entered his bones. Did he fall asleep? What time was it? No battery life in his cell phone anymore. He was trapped. Calm down. Sam was on his way. Probably with Bobby too. No one could find him like those two, that was sure. In fact, he had no real reason to worry...

"_...Dean!..."_

The voice came from the backseat, and Dean was quick to respond. Ducking quickly and unlatching the glove compartment, a Colt pistol was produced and it along with himself swung in reverse to check the backseat for unwanted passengers. There, of course, were none. Was he going crazy? The hell was going on? He knew he heard it. Both times. However, for a split second, a thought on the second voice flashed through his mind. It seemed...familiar.

The night wore on. Or was it morning? He couldn't tell any longer. With every part of glass completely covered by the white blanket, it was impossible to say. He couldn't feel his hands or feet. The continuous howling of the frigid wind making the framework of the muscle car creak and moan.

Tired now. So tired. Was he cold? He couldn't remember. Of course he was cold. The breath escaping his dark lips was nothing more than faint wisps of life. Dean knew, somehow deep within his mind still, that Sam...or someone...anyone was coming. He hoped. But then...Sam could be stuck out there too _because _of him. Hell, he could already be...

"_Don't think it, Dean. Don't you dare." _

Dean slowly shifted his eyes to the right, again the same voice as before. A woman's. That was a certainty. With as much effort and strength his body could muster, he turned his head towards the dimly lit passenger seat and stared in wonder at what was before him. It was a woman, alright. Or was. Dressed in nothing but a silky white nightgown Dean would have made a sarcastic remark about if his iced tongue and frozen lips could form words. She seemed sad but was much like Dean and hid it poorly. A smile that seemed to warm his heart came to her soft features when he managed to make eye contact with his new passenger. Golden hair. Beautiful.

Familiar.

_"Sam is on his way, Dean. I just need you to hang on until then, okay? Can you do that? Of course you can. You're the stubborn one, after all."_

No breath. A ghost? He would have rock salted her if he had the strength. Somehow, however, he simply nodded. She knew him. And Sam. Dean licked his lips, feeling his eyesight blurring and trying to stay awake. With shut eyes and only a whisper, Dean asked the only thing that came to his mind.

"Who...are...you?"

...

_"Tell your brother that I love him very much. We all need to crash and burn sometimes. Even you, Dean."_

_"Even...you."_

Blinding light. Voices. Sam. Bobby.

Darkness.

More light. Moving so fast. So cold. Sirens. A warm hand clutching his own.

It took doctors seventy-four hours to get Dean's body temperature back to normal. He had less than a twelve percent chance. By all accounts, most doctors declared he should have died within eight hours of making that phone call to his brother. The total time Dean spent trapped within his own precious possession was twenty-two hours and thirteen minutes. Enough time to kill him over three times in the negative degree climate.

"Merry Christmas, bro."

Sammy. Dean stirred, his first sight being his brother, behind him a glass window and a steady light fall of snow against the blackened night of Christmas. He nodded, settling his head back against the hospital pillows. "Sammy. Need to. Tell you something."

"What Dean?"

"She says...she loves you."

"Who does?"

...

"An Angel."


End file.
